


How to properly appreciate your Feuilly

by BadassIndustries



Series: Canon Era Shenanigans [8]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: A day in the life of Feuilly, And gifts, Canon Era, Feuilly and all his friends, Feuilly gets hugs, Gen, It's Feuilly Appreciation Week, Slice of Life, Spiritual successor to Gaggle of Grisettes, Written for Feuilly Week 2020, and a nice day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26993833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadassIndustries/pseuds/BadassIndustries
Summary: Feuilly is once more having a strange (but rather nice) day...Written for day 1 of Feuilly Appreciation Week 2020
Relationships: Bahorel & Feuilly (Les Misérables), Combeferre & Feuilly (Les Misérables), Courfeyrac & Feuilly (Les Misérables), Enjolras & Feuilly (Les Misérables), Feuilly & Grantaire (Les Misérables), Feuilly & Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly & Joly & Bossuet Laigle
Series: Canon Era Shenanigans [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518017
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	How to properly appreciate your Feuilly

It wasn’t quite a day like any other, because Feuilly was woken up not by the crying of the baby downstairs but by a beam of moonlight peeking through the tear in the curtains he hadn’t had time to patch. Poor Toto had been teething lately and having a rough time of it. Feuilly dressed, placed the books he had fallen asleep reading back on the shelf and made his way upstairs. He tended to look in on Mme Simone most mornings, to see if he could be of any help that day and hear all the busy goings on of the neighbourhood he had missed while working. This morning was no different.

Mme Simone scolded him a little, for looking too thin and not taking proper care of himself, as she liked to do. And then her daughter Hélène came in, still pinning up her neat curls, happy surprise taking over her sweet face.

“M’sieur Feuilly, so early! Come, you must sit and have breakfast with us!”

Before he could demur, he had been given a thick slice of raisin bread and twin smiles from mother and daughter. He knew he had time, since he had risen before the sun, so Feuilly settled in to ask after the wellbeing of Hélène and Simone’s friends.

After a pleasant while, filled with hearty food and kind company, Feuilly made his excuses to go to work. M’selle Hélène left with him so they could walk together the first few streets. It seemed that at every corner another grisette joined them, curls bouncing and ribbons fluttering in the wind as they ran up to greet Hélène and cast sweet looks at Feuilly. He greeted those he knew by name and was pleased to make the acquaintance of the others. Sometimes, his morning walk to the atelier was a quiet and lonely affair, but today it was filled with laughter and gossip and a spectacle that drew the admiration of many.

At every turn he lost a few of his companions to their respective workrooms, so at the end he walked alone again, though not for long. One street away from his own atelier, he came upon three men limping along, hanging all over each other in very disreputable shamble. Their laughter was audible across the street. The cane of the one and the bald head of the other would in themselves have been nearly enough to positively identify the three, but Grantaire’s loud voice made the matter unmistakable.

“Feuilly! Best and bravest of us all! I have written you an ode. Come here and I will declaim it.”

Lesgles murmured something, probably a pun, that set all three off in raucous laughter again. Feuilly smiled. It was quite obvious these three were returning to bed, still floating on the waves of the night’s merriments.

Feuilly listened with half an ear to Grantaire’s ode, which was couched in far too many sun metaphors but probably hid quite a nice sentiment, if one felt equal to digging that deep.

“Feuilly, tonight I must buy you a drink!” Said Lesgles happily, freeing an arm from his friends to pat Feuilly on the shoulder. The movement upset something in the precarious balance of the friends and they nearly stumbled into the gutter.

“Do you mean your purse has been returned to you?” Feuilly asked kindly. The past week, Lesgles had been living the kind of comedy that would be would not be believed if it wasn’t known that having the same purse stolen three times wasn’t a regular occurrence for poor Bossuet.

“No, but my Jolllly has,” said Bossuet happily, pulling Joly even closer against him. “And his wings of beneficence will stretch over us all.”

“I have just gotten my allowance,” clarified Joly, not minding the fact that both Grantaire and Bossuet were now hanging off his shoulder praising his generosity. “And I did not go anywhere, my dear L’Aigle, so you cannot say I was returned to you.”

Joly’s cane pushed the trio away from the wall so they could continue to stumble along.

Feuilly gently turned them in the right direction, so they were at least pointed towards Joly’s lodgings. He was in momentary danger of being absorbed into the entangled huddle of his three drunk friends, but he managed to free himself with repeated promises to join them for a drink that night.

When he truly had to go or fear being late, they did let him leave, stumbling along to the rhythm of some drinking song they had changed to sing his praises. Smiling at his ridiculous friends, Feuilly turned and hastened inside.

It was easy to lose himself in the work, the minute details that needed his full attention while leaving his mind free to consider a response to the treatise he had been reading last night. When the time for lunch came, he found he had not moved from his hunched position in far too long, so he thought he ought to stretch his limbs at least a little bit in his break. The sun on his skin helped a good bit in the relaxing of his cramped muscles and the sight of Enjolras striding towards him with a smile did a good deal more. He had obviously come from his own workshop and carried a bundle wrapped in misprints.

Feuilly greeted his friend with a pat on his shoulder and directed him to the corner of the alley, just in case he was here on illicit business. Once they were at least out of sight from the main road, he looked up at Enjolras expectantly. Enjolras looked as if he had a speech coming on. He had that intangible energy of divine righteousness, ready to cure an immoral injustice. He also looked rather sleep deprived.

“My friend, I apologise for intruding on you during your workday, but I am pressed for time, as I am to meet with several of our friends from Lyon. But before I talk of that, I wanted to give you this, as a sign of my appreciation.”

He proffered the bundle he was carrying. Feuilly took it and glanced back at Enjolras to see the pleasantly expectant look in his eyes. When he unwrapped the newspaper, it turned out to be three volumes of a rather derivative pastoral romance. Feuilly looked back at Enjolras in surprise. He might have expected Courfeyrac to give him such a novel, but there was no one less interested in romance than Enjolras. Feuilly considered how to polite thank Enjolras, or ask him whether it contained some sort of code.

Enjolras bounced a little on his feet. “Look inside,” he urged.

Inside the cover it did not turn out to be an overwrought romance, but a certain political work that had been banned, that Feuilly had mentioned wanting to read several meetings ago. His eyes widened.

“How did you find this?” he asked in a whisper, looking over his shoulder.

“My friends at the printing press collects such novels and I persuaded him to part with this one, knowing that you would be interested,” Enjolras said proudly. He assumed the stance he generally used for his oratory efforts.

"Every day, I give thanks for your strength and your faith in our cause. Feuilly, you fill me with such pride, it is an honour to know you.”

Feuilly wasn’t quite sure whether the gleam in Enjolras’ eyes was from his natural passion or from tears. He folded Enjolras into a comforting hug anyway. The rest of the speech was mumbled into Feuilly’s shoulder. It contained quite a few metaphors, some of which were lovely sentiments and others quite incomprehensible. When it seemed Enjolras was done, Feuilly took his arm and lead him to the café he intended to eat his lunch in. Enjolras followed along quietly, even if he did object to Feuilly paying. Feuilly was feeling warmed enough by friendship and good soup that he allowed Enjolras to pay for the both of them and they passed a pleasant meal talking about their friends in Lyon, albeit couched in innocuous terms.

When he had seen Enjolras off again, Feuilly went back to work, feeling bemused but pleasant. He set the bundle carefully aside and focused on showing young Thèo how to get the clouds looking appropriately fluffy and not like they were dense enough to walk on.

And then Marie-Jeanne the elder, who had taught Feuilly how to draw faces, told him there was a gentleman outside asking for him.

Feuilly frowned and carefully wiped his hands free of paint.

"A gentleman?" He asked.

"Yes, a young one in a very queer costume," Marie-Jeanne clarified with a look of intense judgment. She was very particular and had once sent Thèo back home because he had forgotten his hat. Feuilly briefly laughed at himself, that he had several friends who could answer that description. Privately, he made a bet with himself that it was Bahorel, who found the constraints labour put on the time of his friends extremely challenging. He never respected work hours, so he forgot others were forced to do so.

Feuilly left Thèo to practice thunderclouds under the watchful eyes of Marie-Jeanne the younger and wandered downstairs. He had lost his bet. It was Jehan, in an astoundingly bright doublet and trousers that made up for their bland beige colour by being closer to hose than was decent. Feuilly could see why Marie-Jeanne disapproved.

He braced himself just in time to accept Jehan's enthusiastic hug.

"Feuilly! I'm so glad to see you!" Said Jehan earnestly, the feather in his hat bobbing along merrily with his words. "I might not be able to make it tonight, so I wanted to give you this." He took a package out of a leather satchel he no doubt thought completed the medieval ensemble.

"Why won't you be there, Prouvaire?" Feuilly asked.

"Oh, it's a full moon you see?" Feuilly, who did not see, nodded along anyway.

"So I wanted to give you this. It's a mooncake, if the kind the ancient Greeks enjoyed to celebrate Artemis!"

Prouvaire unveiled his present with a flourish. It was indeed a small round cake, with something vaguely moon-shape cut into the top and a candle stuck into it. It did not look like Jehan had made it himself, so Feuilly accepted it cheerfully.

“The candle symbolises the light of the moon!” Jehan said happily, looking up at Feuilly with speaking eyes. Feuilly wasn’t quite sure what they were meant to communicate, but they certainly spoke of a lot of emotion.

"Now I must go, there is much to prepare," said Jehan, beaming at Feuilly and hugging him again. "Have the best of days, my friend!" And with two kisses to Feuilly's cheek, Jehan ran off again. Feuilly, smiling, wrapped up the cake again for later and prepared to explain a great deal of nonsense to his co-workers.

When the workday was done, Feuilly stretched his cramped hands and tense shoulders and calculated whether he might return to his lodgings and read a while before he was meant to meet his friends. He had just made up his mind that he could possibly squeeze in another twenty minutes of leisurely reading time when he was accosted by Bahorel. Feuilly perhaps ought to have expected this, since he had run into nearly all of his other friends that day, but still he had to stop himself from reflexively defending himself. It only made Bahorel laugh. Or perhaps he was laughing at Lisette’s wide eyes at his outrageous waistcoat. Bahorel didn’t know how lucky he was that Marie-Jeanne stayed behind and wasn’t there to judge his sartorial choices. Or more likely, Feuilly was lucky he did not need to protect either on from the other. Feuilly sighed.

“You may walk me home, but I do not have the time to get involved in your shenanigans,” he warned Bahorel, who tried for a moment to look offended at the admonishment until his gleeful expression took hold of him again. Bahorel walked next to him for a moment but then could seemingly no longer control himself.

"I found you a sword!"

Feuilly frowned. "What would I do with a sword?"

“You know,” said Bahorel knowingly, wiggling his eyebrows and brandishing the sword. He flipped it over and presented it to Feuilly hilt first.

Feuilly inspected the sword. It was very good craftsmanship.

“Bahorel, I can’t be seen carrying a sword.”

“Nonsense, my dear friend, a sword will lend anyone a sense of elegance and poise!”

Feuilly considered telling Bahorel that he could be seen with a sword only because his overly bright waistcoat caught the eye more than any weapon ever could.

“It will look suspicious.”

“Perhaps to the grocers, but who cares about them?” Bahorel’s face got very close to a pout. “But very well, I will keep it safe for you until you want it.”

“That might be a while,” Feuilly warned him. This did not phase Bahorel.

“Then you must simply come with me more often, so we can practise the noble art of swordfighting.”

By which he probably meant he wanted to play at duelling, as if Bahorel didn’t get into enough recreational brawls in his everyday life. But perhaps polishing his sword-skills would be good. Useful, certainly. And it was an incredibly well-crafted sword.

“Oh very well,” Feuilly said, giving in. “But you will keep it in your rooms and make sure it doesn’t catch attention.”

“Yes!” cheered Bahorel far too loudly. Feuilly shushed him, just for the form of it. It did not have any effect and Bahorel spent the rest of the walk expounding on the virtues of a well-fought fight, until he recollected halfway through that he had some innocent theatregoers to reacquaint with the fear of Bahorel. He patted Feuilly on the back and sauntered off, grinning wildly at everyone who might look like they were even thinking of disapproving of him. Feuilly watched him go for a moment, shaking his head. Then he turned back to go home, eager to light a candle and dive into his new books. One more surprise was waiting for him in front of his door. Combeferre and Courfeyrac arm in arm, smiling and obviously waiting for him. Courfeyrac had a woven basket dangling from his arm, the tip of a bottle just poking out from under the handkerchief.

“Feuilly, my friend! We’ve come to have dinner with you!” announced Courfeyrac, running up to him for a hug. Combeferre followed suit, offering Feuilly a handshake and a smile.

“It is good to see you again, Feuilly. I hope you have had a pleasant day?”

“Of course he has! And now he’s going to have an even better evening.”

Feuilly considered protesting. But Courfeyrac looked so very happy and he had been wishing to speak some more to Combeferre about the books he had lent to Feuilly last month.

Courfeyrac offered his arm and happily patted Feuilly’s hand when he took it.

“Now, I have brought you some good cheese and wine,” he patted his basket contentedly, “and dear Combeferre has brought you more books – I see dear Enjolras has done the same— as well as a supply of candles to protect your lovely eyes from reading in the dark. Doctor’s orders, you must see, it’s no use protesting,” Courfeyrac’s eyes flitted from the newspaper bundle in Feuilly’s arms to Combeferre, to Feuilly’s face just in time to send him a quelling look, just in case he intended to protest this treatment. Feuilly did want to protest, all this was highly unnecessary, but even more he wanted answers.

“I will accept,” he said and Courfeyrac’s smile immediately gained another magnitude of brightness, “but only under one condition. You must explain to me what in the name of Enjolras’ Sainted Mistress is going on!”

Courfeyrac’s smile, which had dimmed a bit at the mention of a condition, sprang back to full vivacity the moment he heard Feuilly’s actual question. He grinned widely at Combeferre, who was smiling too.

“Why, my dear friend, it’s your birthday!” Courfeyrac cheered.

“It is not.” Feuilly protested. He wasn’t entirely sure when his birthday was, but he was quite sure it wasn’t anywhere close to this month.

“We are aware of that,” Combeferre explained kindly. Courfeyrac jumped in immediately. “It seemed like an insurmountable problem, none of us knowing your birthday when he wanted to properly celebrate you. And then Combeferre said he wasn’t sure _you_ knew your birthday, which put a damper on the proceedings for a while.”

Courfeyrac took a deep breath and pulled both Feuilly and Combeferre closer.

“And then Bahorel had the brilliant thought – this was after several bottles of course – that we didn’t need to know your actual birthday to celebrate the birth of our dear Feuilly. We could merely declare it a holiday in your honour!”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me beforehand?” Feuilly asked weakly.

Combeferre stepped forward. “I am afraid a vote was taken and overwhelmingly won in favour of it being a surprise.” He didn’t look properly remorseful.

“We could have celebrated your saint’s day, of course, but this was way more fun.” Courfeyrac beamed one of his brightest smiles.

“Now come on, I fought both Enjolras and Joly for the right to take you to dinner, you won’t let my heroics be in vain, will you?”

With that, Feuilly gave up and let Courfeyrac lead him away to a night of entirely unnecessary, unasked for and yet very welcome celebrations.

**Author's Note:**

> My friend told me that she read that birthdaycakes come from the mooncakes the Greeks ate to celebrate Artemis and that felt like an entirely Jehan thing to do. And since the theme of the first day of Feuilly week was birthdays/celebration that just fitted all to nicely. Saint's days where an alternative to birthdays in France, when the catholics were of the opinion that birthdays were heathen.  
> Most of all, I just wanted all the amis to dedicate a day to appreciating Feuilly.
> 
> Appreciate Feuilly, people, he's a darling.
> 
> Leave me a comment with your thoughts (especially about which metaphors you think Enj and Grantaire used or where Bahorel found the sword)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


End file.
